Heart Shaped Box
by SpecterQueen
Summary: A group of troubled friends hang out at a rundown coffee house, easing the suffering of existence and trying to find meaning past the mundane. Life goes on, affections bloom, relationships grow more complex. Things may not be perfect but they seem better, until they unwittingly stumble into a dark and forbidden world full of secrets and danger. AKA: The 90s AU nobody asked for


Welcome to the Goth & Grungefest! Pull up a chair and enjoy some casual nihilism.

* * *

Ch 1

The bass thumped in a punishing rhythm, cut through with harsh metallic strikes and random mechanical clips characteristic of industrial music. His body flushed under his cropped, red leather jacket, ripped jeans clinging to his legs with sweat. Bodies undulated around him, grinding against each other, and his head swam somewhere in the dark heavens above. The alcohol and drugs mingled into a fine cocktail in his brain, blowing every sense beyond limit, urging him to continue his fevered dancing.

A crescendo hit and Keith Kogane threw up his fists and thrashed his body wildly. It was careless and vulgar and everything he needed in that moment, a celebration of a long overdue lucky break, which he intended to enjoy every second of.

Time passed in a haze of dancing, shouting, drinking, and smoking to the backdrop of heavy, pulsing songs, one bleeding seamlessly into the other. Keith eventually found himself outside the dingy club in an alley alternating between smoking a joint and sucking someone's face. He had no idea who the people were and he honestly didn't care, though superficially they seemed nice enough.

"He is sooo trashed, oh my god," said the short one with a snort. The best distinguishing feature he could make out was that her auburn hair was styled into a faux hawk.

"Guys, a little help here- _mm_."

Keith cut off the tall man by sloppily pressing his mouth against the stranger's and blowing a stream of pot smoke past his lips. Someone deftly plucked the roach from his fingers before he dropped it.

"Um…don't you have a thing going on now, with that hot goth chick?" asked the largest guy as he leisurely hit the roach.

"Yeah, I do, thanks for reminding me," deadpanned the tall guy, holding Keith's face back long enough to get the sentence out before their faces connected again. The rest of his words came out muffled before he gave up.

Keith felt raw emotions coursing through him like a live wire, inhibitions a distant memory. Years of repressed energy roiled beneath his skin desperate for release. Nobody had ever really cared about him, not in the ways that mattered, and he had always been told to keep his head down lest the system swallow him whole. Granted he hadn't usually followed that advice, but things were different now and he had made a decision to start living instead of just surviving. In retrospect, getting totally smashed probably wasn't the best way to start, but he could worry about that later.

"That's pretty cute. Isn't it cute, Hunk? We're witnessing a blossoming infidelity."

Keith caught the name on the fringes of his attention and wondered if he'd heard it wrong.

"If you say so," said Hunk passing the roach to the short girl. "I wonder if they can breathe."

As if on cue, Keith came up for air, gasping and shoving off of the stranger he'd just stuck his tongue in. His whirled around, back hitting the brick wall and slid down marginally. He tried to fish a Marlboro out of his jacket pocket as the world threatened to spin.

"You guys wanna come back to my place?" he asked, pleased he could still articulate most of the words.

"Sure thing." Another person seemed to appear out of nowhere, though he'd likely been in plain sight the whole time. His stature was fairly lanky. "Name's Lance. You got one, stranger?"

"Keith." He finally succeeded in freeing a bent cigarette from the cardboard pack. "Anyone have a light?"

A lighter flicked before Keith's face and he jerked his head back, simultaneously startled and awed by the spontaneous flame. He inhaled and watched the tobacco glow red hot before letting his eyes trace the arm back to the man he had just French kissed.

"It's nice to meet you, Keith," he said flashing a smile that looked like it had no business existing in a dirty alley. "My name's Shiro. This is Hunk, and this is Pidge." He continued gesturing the large guy and girl respectively.

Shiro. What an interesting name. Keith tried not to stare too long, but he was ridiculously attractive. There were definitely muscles hiding under his leather jacket. He wanted to reach out and shove it off Shiro's shoulders.

Glancing at his watch, Shiro swore softly. "I gotta go. Shift is starting soon. Take care of Keith, okay?"

"Roger that." Hunk mock saluted. "He won't come to any harm under our watch."

"Great, thanks! See you later!"

Keith wanted to protest when he saw the object of his drunken affection jog off and disappear around a corner, but the others quickly distracted him. Soon they were all piling into Hunk's Jeep and speeding off.

The late autumn air whipped through Keith's hair, masking his face in numbing cold, and he somehow managed to give decent directions to his new apartment. It was out of the inner city but not far enough that throwing an impromptu party would be a problem. The sprawling, industrial metropolis was well acquainted with noise, and while it occasionally grew quiet at night it never truly slept.

Keith welcomed the ragtag gang into his humble abode on the 3rd floor and they cranked up his radio, blaring a local rock station. A bottle of cheap vodka magically appeared and everyone passed it around having animated conversations. His new friends were a lively bunch, and Keith struggled to keep up with their inside jokes. The alcohol proved to be excellent social lubrication, though, and he found himself playfully interjecting when he normally wouldn't have.

Dancing happened, maybe a massage or two, a round of intense questioning thankfully not directed at him, and the rest disappeared into the void of slumber.

* * *

Keith coughed and rolled onto his back with a groan. He blinked, staring at the bits of dust drifting gently through the beams of late morning sunlight. Nausea rolled through his gut and for a moment he wondered if he would have to scramble to the bathroom. Someone shifted beside him and tossed an arm over his chest startling him. He knew the chipped painted nails and petite wrist belonged to Pidge before even looking to confirm. She was still clothed and fast asleep.

After glancing at his alarm clock, he slipped out of bed, a fancy set up of wooden shipping platforms with a mattress tossed on top. His curtains were nothing more than dark sheets hung over the windows, and his nightstand was a milk crate, but at least he had a proper dresser. The bedroom was spacious enough that he doubted he'd ever fill it.

He padded across the cold hardwood floor into the living room, shaking off a shiver when he reached the area rug. Hunk was sprawled out on the sofa snoring softly. It was a tacky, crushed velvet piece that had fallen out of the 70s into a resale shop, and then frugally into his possession. The art deco coffee table complimented it nicely, and the 25 inch television with stand had come with the place thanks to the hasty exit of its previous tenants. Interestingly, there was also a rug hanging on the wall. He liked its intricate design so he'd left it up.

Keith snatched a pack of cigarettes from the coffee table and shuffled into the kitchen. Lance was there staring out the window as the coffee maker sputtered and gurgled out a fresh pot. He noticed Keith when he lit his cigarette on a stovetop burner.

"Morning, sunshine!" He flashed a brilliant smile before opening random cupboards in search of coffee cups. "I was going to cook breakfast but you don't have much food here."

"Yeah, sorry about that." Keith tossed the smokes to Lance, hip checking him out of the way to get the cups himself. Thankfully, he had enough for everyone. They were cheap and easy to collect, unlike the rest of his sparse assorted kitchenware.

"Not a problem…uh, I could totally run down the street and get some stuff. I think there's a bakery nearby."

"I actually don't know the area that well yet," confessed Keith as he poured a few cups of coffee. He passed one with a colorful peace sign on it to Lance. "Just moved in three days ago."

"You told us last night," said Lance looking around for sugar before noticing Keith spooning some into his cup straight from the bag. "No offense, but this place could really use a woman's touch."

Keith snorted and slid the sugar over to Lance. "Like Pidge?"

Lance let out a bark of a laugh. "No way, dude, I have someone else in mind. A beautiful bohemian goddess, actually. She can make any dump look better."

"Thanks, asshole, really considerate." Keith took his cup and left the kitchen.

"Shit, sorry! I didn't mean it like that!" Lance's voice travelled out of the kitchen. "But seriously, you should meet her! I'll introduce you soon."

Rolling his eyes, Keith sat on the floor, leaned against the couch, and took up the remote. He turned the TV on and flipped through channels in search of news or weather. The noise woke up Hunk and he nearly kicked Keith in the head as he sat up. Sensing his friend's consciousness, Lance entered the room with two steaming coffee cups.

"What time is it?" asked Hunk as he sipped his coffee and sighed happily. "My shift starts at one."

Lance plopped down on the couch. "You still have some time. We'll get going after you finish your coffee."

"Where do you work?" asked Keith still channel surfing.

"Down at Rolo's Auto Shop," said Hunk jabbing his thumb in a random direction. "I'm a mechanic."

"That's cool. Think you could hook me up with a car someday?" Keith had sadly wrecked his first car a few months ago. Rest in Peace, Betty the Shit Beater.

"Sure, dude, no problem. Just give me a price limit and I'll see what I can find." Hunk laughed and shook his head. "If this area is good for anything, it sure is cars. I can find something to fit literally any budget."

"Awesome, thanks."

Keith finally found a midday news report and Pidge woke up soon after. She was amazingly chipper for someone that had passed out three sheets to the wind and woke up in rumpled clothes stinking of booze. She was the one that made sure everyone exchanged phone numbers before leaving and Keith could hardly believe his continued luck. He felt like he had just struck friend gold and hoped they would keep in touch.

As he got ready for work, he thought maybe he was missing some important detail from the previous night. It wasn't until he was washing dishes at the small Coney Island restaurant that he suddenly recalled what had eluded him.

Shiro. He had made out with a gorgeous man named Shiro.

He let his mind wander to snippets of details that resurfaced through the veil of inebriation. He remembered Shiro's dark eyes glittering with amusement as he gazed down at him momentarily holding him back, how his cheeks dusted a pale pink after an intense round of tongue on tongue action, the scar that ran over the bridge of his nose, that strange tuft of white hair in his forelock, how amazingly soft and plump his lips were. Keith nearly dropped a plate, fumbling it loudly into the sink.

A sobering realization hit him as he continued to hose remnants of food off plates and bowls. Hunk had mentioned Shiro was seeing someone. He was already a taken man and of course it was a woman. Maybe he wasn't even interested in men and had just been humoring Keith. He scrubbed the dishes harder, cursing the fates. Apparently that was where his luck had run out.

"Keith!" bellowed the owner, Sal, from across the kitchen, brandishing the phone like a weapon. "You got a call!"

Keith wiped his hands dry on his apron as he walked over to take the corded phone. "Hello?"

"Keith, it's Kolivan," came a stern voice through the earpiece. "My barista called out sick. Can you come help with the café around 4 or 5? It's the place I told you about, right across the side street."

"My shift here ends at 5. I can come over then," said Keith, though he would have easily ditched dishwashing to help.

"Great, thanks. See you then." Kolivan hung up before Keith had a chance to respond.

At 5 pm Keith left the restaurant and walked across the side street. Kolivan had said it was nearby and he wasn't kidding. It was the first storefront he saw, a smaller building smashed between two larger ones in a row. The only indication he had the right place was the plain script on the window reading, "Gotham City Café". When he went to grab the door handle he noticed it was missing with a rag shoved in the hole. He grabbed the rag and hesitantly yanked the door open.

The interior of the coffee house was dim with assorted tables and booths to his right and some random, ratty furniture to his left. The large storefront window displayed an impressive amount of grime with heavy olive drapes drawn open. He spotted Kolivan behind the bar towards the back and walked across the blonde hardwood floor, wondering if it had been swept in the last year.

Given the size of the establishment the bar was kind of small, and Keith leaned on its worn Formica surface, clearing his throat. Kolivan looked up from a notebook and offered a brief, forced smile. He was a tall, gruff man that looked like a stereotypical biker and usually acted every bit as stern as his appearance led you to believe. Impatiently, he motioned for Keith to come behind the counter, flipping his long pale braid back over his shoulder.

"Where is everyone?" asked Keith, shrugging off his jacket and shoving it under the bar in the corner.

"Tuesdays are usually slow, but I'm sure people will start showing up later. There's a couple people in the back already." Kolivan jabbed his thumb behind himself.

Keith followed the motion to an open passage he had failed to notice. There was a smaller room beyond the main one and apparently even a third one beyond that. The mismatched furniture in the middle room looked like it had been stolen out of a drug house and two men were seated comfortably on the couch. Cozy.

"All the drinks here are pretty basic," said Kolivan handing a menu and black waist apron over to Keith. "I don't expect you to learn them all right away. My other guy is coming in soon and he'll show you the ropes. I've got paperwork to catch up on. If you need anything, I'll be in my office."

"Uhh…wait-"

Kolivan started to walk away waving a hand. "You'll be fine. Most people don't even order anything this early and there's a couple pots already brewed."

After Kolivan disappeared somewhere into the back of the building, Keith tied his apron on and started to study the menu. Everything on it was pretty standard and stuff he was familiar with, like cappuccinos and lattes, but there were a few that puzzled him.

"What the hell is a macchiato?"

"A fancy Italian word for an espresso with a small amount of milk, usually foamed," spoke an unfamiliar voice with a British accent.

Keith snapped his head up and saw one of the men from the back room hunched over the counter causally. He appeared middle-aged, pale blond hair slicked back, features sharp, dark eyes boring intently into Keith's. He looked like a washed-up rocker, the punk type that weren't afraid to bust your teeth out on a curb.

"Thanks." Keith stood up straight and brushed some imaginary dust off his apron. "You want something?"

"I'm tempted to ask for an espresso to see you fumble with the machine, but I'll go easy on you and take a cuppa the plain shit."

"Sure thing," said Keith turning around. When he plucked a cup from the shelf he noticed most of them were mismatched and many were stained and chipped.

"I'm Ulaz, by the way," said the man after Keith set the cup on the counter.

"Keith. Nice to meet you, man." He took the money Ulaz slid over and went to the register, thankful it had buttons helpfully labeled with the drink names.

"How do you know Kolivan?" asked Ulaz experimentally sipping his coffee. He grimaced slightly but didn't add anything to it.

"He saved me from a sketchy situation about a month ago," said Keith attempting to hand the change back. Ulaz waved it off so he stuck it in an apron pocket. "Now he's helping me find work."

"Ah, so you're his latest project." Ulaz stared at him thoughtfully past his raised cup. "Interesting."

"Project? What do you mean-"

Keith was cut off by the sound of the front door jerking open and a group of loud teenagers filing into the establishment. He tried not to panic as they walked up to the bar tugging open coats and loosening scarves. Ulaz smirked and strolled away.

"Oh my god, this place really is a shithole."

"Dude, I knoooow. So awesome."

"Do you see that crap on the walls trying to pass for abstract art? Wow."

One of them snapped fingers to get Keith's attention and he fought down the urge to punch them in the face. The first order had barely passed a girl's lips when a slouching red-headed savior swooped in seemingly out of nowhere.

"What'll it be, guys?" he asked while sliding off his jacket. He tossed it to Keith and took up a pen and order pad.

After Keith shoved the jacket beside his own, he returned to the stranger's side as he quickly jotted down everyone's order in barely legible chicken scratch. He told them to take a seat and that they would call them when everything was ready.

"New guy. Cool," he said holding out a hand. "I'm Matt."

Keith shook Matt's hand and introduced himself, suddenly struck with how familiar he looked.

"Okay, Keith, it's crash course time," said Matt tying on an apron. "We're gonna make those snotty yuppie spawn some shitty coffee."

"Do they know it's shitty?" asked Keith amused.

"Oh yeah." Matt pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and started pulling out supplies. "Place has a reputation to uphold. They eat this shit up. So yeah…try not to be too friendly with people here while you serve."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously, man. I make the best tips when I'm rude." Matt gestured for Keith to come closer and watch him make some espresso. "But like you have to fine tune the rudeness, though. They like it in moderation. This is really easy, watch."

Keith quickly decided Matt was one of his favorite people ever. The guy was an excellent teacher and exuded a friendly, easy going nature peppered with just the right amount of sarcasm. After a few hours and a modest amount of customers, Keith had half the drinks more or less memorized. He lit a cigarette during a lull and tapped it once into the ashtray as the front door opened again.

"Maaaaatt!" sang Pidge skipping through the building trailed by Keith's new group of friends.

"I was wondering when you would show up," said Matt leaning over the counter to hug Pidge briefly.

"Hey, can you hook me up with a free coffee -oh my god, is that you, Keith?! What the hell are you doing here?!"

"You work here now, man?" asked Lance sidling up beside Pidge. "This is our favorite dive."

"Kolivan asked me to help out tonight." Keith took a drag off his cigarette, glancing at Shiro and Hunk when they walked up to the bar. "Um…you guys look like twins. Are you related?" he asked motioning between Matt and Pidge.

"Not twins, just siblings," answered Matt. "What do you guys want for your one drink minimum?"

"Ugh, the boss man is still doing that?" Lance complained, digging around in his pockets for money. He slapped a couple dollars on the bar. "Iced coffee, please."

"You're the only dumbass I know that orders iced coffee during this time of the year," said Pidge putting her own money on top of his. "Latte, please."

Lance shrugged while Hunk and Shiro placed their orders of another latte and Americano respectively. The group then disappeared into the third room of the building as Matt and Keith made their drinks. Keith had not missed the way Shiro had avoided eye contact, cheeks faintly pink. Maybe it was the cold, maybe it wasn't.

Matt shouted that the drinks were ready after setting them on the counter, startling Keith. Pidge and Shiro showed up to collect the order, but Shiro paused, hands lingering on two cups.

"Keith," he spoke softly, attempting to be discreet. "When you're done, or if you get the chance, that is, would you like to join us?"

Keith looked back to Matt, who was probably pretending not to listen. "I don't know if I can…hell, I'm not even sure how late this place is open."

"Busier nights we'll let people stay till 10, but most nights it's 9," said Kolivan brushing past Keith behind the bar. "Is this guy a friend of yours?"

"I guess," said Keith not entirely sure how he should answer that question.

"It's good to have friends. Take a break and go hang out with them." Kolivan leafed through the order pad. "I doubt we'll get much more business, but come back to the bar in about thirty minutes."

Matt poured him a cup of coffee and shooed him away to follow Shiro into the back. The third room was the smallest and that made it feel more intimate. There was a low couch, two end tables, and a couple seats arranged on one side, and the door to the bathroom on the other. He laughed when he noticed the back door had an eye slit with a sliding cover, like the ones in gangster movies.

After sitting down on one of the chairs, Keith bent over and lifted the couch skirt confirming his suspicions that its legs had been sawed off. The yellowed eggshell paint was chipped and the plaster cracked, sporting a decent amount of sharpie graffiti. One large canvas adorned a wall, splashed in aggressive multicolor streaks.

"Charming place, right?" asked Lance seated comfortably on the couch between Pidge and Hunk.

"It is," agreed Keith, sipping his coffee and only then remembering he wanted sugar. "I like it."

Seeming to read his mind, Pidge fished some sugar packets out of her pocket and tossed them to Keith. "Then you should definitely come hang out with us here again. All the cool kids are doing it."

"Who said I was cool?" laughed Keith dumping the sugar into his coffee and stirring it with his finger. He caught Shiro staring at him as he sucked the finger clean, pleased to see his blush return. Definitely wasn't the cold that time.

"Ooooh, okay, I get it." Lance leaned forward to glare at Keith. "You're the type that's blissfully unaware of how cool you are which is, quite frankly, the most annoying type of cool person."

Shiro sighed. "Knock it off, Lance."

"He does have a point, though," said Pidge. "We've got the grunge wonder twins over here." She jerked her head in the direction of Lance and Hunk beside her. "And Mr. Wannabe Industrial Goth over there." She pointed to Shiro. "And then you, flaunting this hybrid 80s rocker - goth style. Not even my amazing eclectic fashion can compete. You're a true trendsetter and inspiration."

"Yeah, dude, I loved that red jacket you were wearing the other night," added Hunk.

"Thanks, I got it for 10 bucks at the resale store." Keith shook his head. "I'm not a trendsetter, just a broke punk that can't afford nice clothes, so I take what I can get."

"So what's your story?" asked Lance relaxing back against the cushions and slurping noisily from his iced coffee. "Sorry to say I don't remember too much of it from our drunken escapades."

"Um…it's a pretty boring sob story to be honest." Keith fidgeted with the ceramic cup, idly tracing a stain with his thumb.

"Tell us," said Shiro, his tone suspended somewhere between authoritative and curious. "We want to know about you and we won't judge."

Pidge snorted. "Got that right. We are not in a position to do that, trust me."

Keith took a deep breath. "Alright…my dad died in a car crash when I was seven, and mom left when I was a baby, so I got sent to an orphanage. Apparently, I don't have any family around here, or anywhere they could find. I was in an out of foster homes for a while, got into trouble more than I should've. When I turned 18 they booted me out and I got into even more trouble trying to make ends meet. Kolivan is the reason I'm here now with temp jobs and a place to live. So yeah, this is all kinda new to me but I like it. I feel like I have a chance at a better life."

"Wow, man," said Hunk nodding thoughtfully. "Sounds like you've been through a lot. I wish you luck on your journey."

"And you're totally our friend now, so if you need anything we're here for you," said Pidge with a wink. "I'm pretty tenacious when it comes to protecting the people I care about too."

"Yeah, don't let her stature fool you." Lance cast Keith a look of warning. "Dynamite comes in small packages."

"Damn straight," laughed Pidge.

"Shit, I'm going to be late for my shift," said Lance after glancing at his watch. "Can you drive me, Hunk?"

"No problem." Hunk downed the last of his coffee and slammed the cup onto an end table. "You need a ride later, Pidge?"

"No, I'll hitch a ride with Matt."

"I don't know why I offered to take this shift," groaned Lance standing up and putting on his coat. "Gas stations are mind-numbingly boring overnight and most of the clientele are cops and wasted addicts."

"And I don't know why you even bothered coming out if you knew you needed to be at work so soon. Your fly by the seat of your pants attitude is unnerving." Pidge suddenly shot up out of her seat. "I better go tell Matt so he doesn't take off without me later."

After brief goodbyes, Keith and Shiro were left alone. The din of noise drifted in from the other rooms taking the edge off the silence. Keith ran several questions through his mind trying to settle on one that sounded appropriate.

"Nice to see you again, Keith," said Shiro, slicing smoothly through the awkward pause. "You know, without the inebriation and…uh, kissing."

Keith chuckled as he patted his pockets down for the cigarettes he'd left at the bar. His kneejerk reaction was to apologize, but he decided kissing an attractive person was nothing to be sorry about. Shiro moved to the couch to offer Keith a cigarette and he nodded his thanks. His leather jacket was off and Keith saw Shiro's toned arms in all their glory, flexing subtly as he moved. Keith nodded again, that time in approval and affirmation that he had assumed correctly.

"So…is that like a thing you do regularly?" Shiro set his coffee aside so he could light the offered cigarette.

"Get blitzed and make out with strangers?" asked Keith blowing out a stream of smoke. "I can't say it's never happened before, but usually, no. Does your girlfriend know?"

Shiro flinched at the question. "Not yet."

"You planning to tell her?"

"Yes," snapped Shiro, suddenly very interested in the floor. "It's not a big deal. You didn't know what you were doing."

Keith made a noncommittal noise and hung his head back onto the chair. He traced some exposed wires on the ceiling until they disappeared into the other room. "What if I told you I knew exactly what I was doing and that I want it to happen again?"

Shiro whipped his head towards Keith in surprise, but he didn't return the favor. A few incoherent words left Shiro's mouth before Pidge came bounding back into the room, cutting him off.

"Oooh, you're blushing, Shiro!" she said plopping down onto the couch beside him and leaning into his side. "Whatcha talkin' about? Naughty stuff?"

"No!" said Shiro covering his face self-consciously. "And why would you automatically assume that?"

"You're right, that was rude of me." Pidge scooted away and tugged her backpack onto the couch next to her. She started pulling out notebooks. "It's not like it's hard to make you blush anyways."

"Good to know," said Keith with a smirk.

Shiro coughed picking up his coffee again as a distraction. "You ought not to trust her. She's a mischievous little pixie and she'll turn on you too with time."

"Lies and slander," said Pidge, sounding bored as she stretched out on the couch and started writing.

Keith stamped out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray and stood up. "It was cool chatting," he said causally walking away. "I'm gonna get back to the bar. See you later."

The rest of the shift went by quickly thanks to Matt's witty banter. He seemed genuinely interested in getting to know Keith, making sure they exchanged phone numbers by closing time. It was the same number as Pidge's but he accepted it with thanks. Matt also scribbled their address below the number and said Keith should absolutely come over and check out the house sometime. He declared it was a marvel of mid-century modern architecture, interesting and unique, a must-see.

Kolivan appeared ushering Pidge to the bar in front of him. Keith noted Shiro's absence and couldn't recall seeing him leave, though he hadn't really paid attention thanks to Matt's entertaining conversations. After pressing some money into Keith's palm, Kolivan shooed everyone out the front door, locking it behind them.

The cold had settled into the bones of the city and Keith's breath trailed out in plumes. Pidge punched him playfully in the arm and Matt waved before they wandered off to his car. Keith shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and started the march home. It was only a few blocks down the main road and around the corner a bit. Maybe he should've brought a hat. He missed Betty even if her heat had never worked well.

"Keith! Hey!"

He glanced over his shoulder half expecting to see an acquaintance from his shady past, but was pleasantly surprised to see Shiro instead. He was leaning against the brick wall of the corner building, smoking and looking so cool Keith felt he had no right to even stand near him.

"What's up? I thought you left," said Keith as he jogged over to him.

"I did." Shiro flicked the spent cigarette butt and it exploded into sparks in the distance. "Went to the Coney Island to grab a bite to eat. It's pretty cold. Do you want a ride home?"

"If it's not too much trouble…" Keith trailed off to leave an option for refusal. He hated to think anyone would cart him around out of a sense of obligation or pity.

"None at all, come on."

When they got to the parking lot, Shiro wandered over to a behemoth of a vehicle. Keith didn't know a lot about cars but it was easy enough to identify it as a suburban. A sleek, black suburban with nice tires and probably four-wheel drive. After Keith climbed into the passenger seat, he looked around the interior, marveling at the space and number of seats.

"This thing is massive," commented Keith more to himself. "Bet it'd be fun to fuck in the back."

Shiro coughed to hide a laugh and started the engine. The drive to his apartment complex was short, but Keith was grateful when he felt the air blasting from the vents warming up. He stuck his cold fingers over one with a happy sigh and Shiro cast him an amused glance. The suburban lumbered into the drab lot and into a parking spot near a tree.

Keith listened to the steady rumble of the engine, enjoying the heat. "Why did you wait for me?" he asked after unlatching the seatbelt.

"What? I didn't-"

"Cut the shit," interrupted Keith. "You could've just left after eating, but you didn't. You waited for me. Why?"

Shiro took a moment to respond, his expression pensive. "The first time I saw you, moving on that dance floor like a reckless delinquent…I wondered how one person could stand out so much. Then by chance, you looked right at me. It's hard to describe, but at that moment, I felt some kind of pull."

"So you like me?"

"I think that's pretty obvious." Shiro shook his head. "But not like you're probably thinking. I mean, I don't even know you."

"It's all good, you don't have to justify yourself to me." Keith popped open the glove compartment and rummaged through the stuff inside. He found a pen and pulled it out. "Do you want my number?"

"Um, sure, but I don't know if I have any paper-"

Keith scooted over on the bench seat and gently tugged Shiro's hand towards him. It took a couple tries, but he got the pen to work and wrote his number on Shiro's skin. There was a wide raised scar that ran over the top of his hand off to the side, disappearing beneath his sleeve. Keith's fingers carelessly brushed against it.

"Thanks for the ride. Give me a call sometime." He paused after opening the door. "By the way, it makes you sound like a cop when you call people delinquents."

"That might be because I used to be one," said Shiro with a smirk.

Keith quirked an eyebrow. "The plot thickens. We are definitely from different sides of the tracks."

"Nothing wrong with that. Goodnight, Keith."

"Drive safe."

The suburban did not leave until he was safely inside the building. Keith couldn't remember anyone ever giving him that consideration and a strange, warm sensation bubbled up in his chest. Contemplating the conversation he had just had, he belatedly noticed the tall, long haired man breezing past him in the lobby. He paused by an ornate pillar and watched the man as he headed towards the entrance. His expensive suit and platinum locks stuck out like a sore thumb in the old, rundown complex, but Keith didn't lend it much thought. He was likely from a local gang trying to square up on payment or something. Keith shook his head and ascended the stairs.


End file.
